First Steps to a Better You
by Keldore
Summary: nonHBP. Independent!Harry. postOOTP. Realizing that he has wasted too much time all ready, Harry begins preparing himself. He'll use whatever and whoever he can to stay alive, but he'll try his best to keep as much of his Gryffindor side intact. NonSlash
1. Chapter 1 New Resolve

Disclaimer: Aww shucks Ms. Rowling, I was just goofin'…

First Steps to a Better You

Chapter 1: New Resolve

Harry Potter had been returned to captivity for the summer. Things were actually progressing remarkably well for the young wizard, a pleasant diversion from years past. A little warning from the Order of the Phoenix had taken care of Harry's troubles from his relatives. That is to say, the warning in Kings Cross finally gave Harry the excuse he had been waiting for these past five years.

Harry could not tell if Vernon's face was so red from the verbal assault on the platform, the twenty yard walk to the car, or just the sheer effect it took him to squeeze his girth into the space between the seat and the steering wheel. Nor did he care very much. He was too busy thinking of ways to steal Mad-Eye Moody's swirling magical eye, and possible his other as well.

_Yes, I am so glad these are the people protecting the world from Voldemort. Brilliant ideas they have. Maybe for my birthday they can get Vernon fired from his job and then lock the two of us in the Cupboard under the Stairs. Subtle like a brick to the skull. And I bet they were just so proud of themselves._

It was nevertheless one of the quieter trips from London to Little Whinging that Harry had endured. Pulling into the driveway of Number 4, a flick of a latch had the back opened and Harry scrambling to grab his trunk and race Vernon into the house and up the stairs. He almost made it too.

Blinking wearily, he tried to see where the attacking Death Eaters were, when he noticed his cousin staring down at him with what looked to be a smirk. The half masticated sausage all over his teeth and lips ruined the effect. Even a first year Slytherin had a more developed and devious smirk than Dudley's current visage. Vernon's huffing and puffing was getting closer to the front door, so Harry did what he usually did in these types of situations. He allowed his instinct to take his left hand and hurl a fist into Dudley's crouch.

The first lesson of the summer was that Harry should be more mindful of his surroundings. The second was that Harry needed to tell his instinct the while appreciated, it had to remember to bring intelligence along with it next time it visits. Dudley's foot came crashing down to drive the air from Harry's, having been duly protected by the cup he wore, seeing as he had just come from boxing practice. The shorts and still taped hands should have been a dead giveaway.

Intelligence decided to make an appearance now that breathe left, and it brought with it a whole lot of rage. A shake of his sleeve preceded a warm holly feel to his hand, which was then lifted in one smooth motion to fire what looked to be distorted air at the snickering boxer. _Iacio_! Dudley's face became the definition of abject terror as he realized what was about to happen in the way that pigeons realize just before they smash into the window. Not only did Dudley take out a good chunk of the stairway railing, he also smashed a large vase of roses, the door to the kitchen, one of the kitchen chairs, and eventually came to rest with his head indenting the base of the stove.

Since intelligence was not too shabby, Harry spun on the ground and with a well practiced and overpowered _Accio_, Vernon soared over Harry's head to join Dudley in the kitchen. He was not willing to take the risk of Vernon retaliating while he was still on the ground. Coughing a bit as he pushed himself to his feet, Harry realized that while unable to speak for lack of breath, he was still able to command his powers. Unfortunately, rage had been replaced by simmering anger, and intelligence took a backseat. He would have to do a lot more mental exercise before he was clever enough to understand that sort of magical theory from one event, no matter how instructive.

Judging by the fact that his eardrums were still intact, his aunt must not have been home to greet him. He was under no illusion that her shrill braying would not have assaulted him from the beginning of his little retaliation. No matter though, Harry would deal with her later. He proceeded into the kitchen to find Dudley still unconscious with Vernon trying to shake him awake.

Not really appreciating the symmetry, Harry spoke in a low voice, "He won't wake up." Vernon's heart leaped into his chest. He lifted his head just in time to see a fist strike him on the chin. Normally this would have made Vernon laugh, but Harry had wrapped a kitchen towel around his hand before alerting Vernon to his presence. A whispered spell later had the towel transfigured into a crude and brittle metal that still retained the horrendously ugly sunflower pattern. Harry was not looking for anything special, fortunately, just something nice and blunt. At least two of Vernon's teeth cracked from the impact that sent him back to the ground with Dudley.

Having sufficiently made his point, Harry pulled over a chair that had escaped being made kindling and sat down. His wand did not leave his hand, though his eyes roamed the room, keeping an eye on the two lumps on the ground and waiting for his official reprimand. He began whistling the melody of a Celestina Warbeck tune that he'd heard on Seamus' wireless a few weeks back. It always amused him that the slowly changing wizarding world was nevertheless just as attracted to entertainment technology as the muggles they disdained. Before he had reached the chorus for the third and final time, a tap on the window had him leaning over the sink to open it up.

"No reply," he waved his hand dismissively after taking the scroll from the bird, and the owl hurled itself back out the way it came. Twirling the scroll in his hand, he sat back down and broke the seal.

**To Mr Harry Potter:**

**On the afternoon of July 3rd the following spells were detected at your place of residence: one Hurling Hex, one Summoning Charm, one cloth to metal transfiguration spell, one metal to cloth transfiguration spell. These spells constitute a violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Per Ministerial Decree 49873 – An Addendum to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery during Wartime, you are hereby ordered to pay the sum of 5 galleons per illegal action. Failure to pay the fine within 30 days will result in further action up to a fine of 500 galleons, expulsion from Hogwarts School, and 1 year in Azkaban. **

**Sincerely,  
Mafalda Hopkirk  
Improper Use of Magic Office**

"Looks like Fudge is still bumbling along. Finally admits what we've been telling him for a year, and rather than act competently, he just muddies the water and pretends to do something. Not to mention adding one more way to line the ministry's pockets. Ah well, I'm sure Dumbledore will take care of it. He ought to be good for something. Now, where was I? Oh yes! Rennervate!"

The Rennervate spell is quite handy as a counter curse for the stunning spell, but most healers and mediwitches would tell you that it is a very poor substitute for reviving someone for most other conditions. Without that spell to end, the magic instead drags the conscious back to the forefront kicking and screaming all the way. It is recommended that even as emergency first aid this spell is avoided since it causes the target to suffer a severe migraine once the energy from the spell has dissipated from the brain, complicating other injuries. Harry had read that all by himself during the furious studying he had undertaken for the Tournament. It seemed appropriate enough to him here, and besides, he hadn't bothered looking up a better way to wake up the Dursleys.

Groaning against the taste of blood in their mouths, Dudley and Vernon sat up and promptly vomited all over the floor in their haste. A vanishing spell took care of most of that, which brought four eyes back to their aggressor. The combination of wariness, confusion, and pain seemed out of place in the usual vacant eyes whose only real experience of wariness came from physical activity, confusion from trying to read books with actual words, and pain from the discovery that deep frying licorice would in fact not taste divine. Still, it served to increase Harry's amusement, which he thought was a refreshing change in the sterile kitchen.

"Let's be perfectly clear who is in charge this summer, my dear family. I may have acted like a scared little pussie for the last 15 years, but that has all changed. I no longer need you for anything, and if anything you need me. I am here against my will, so listen closely. You will both stay out of my way. I will not see you, you will not see me. Otherwise, I can quite easily kill you both and make it look like an accident. I can even make it look like Aunt Petunia did it. So don't _fuck with me_. Are we clear?"

Rather than answer the very simple question, Dudley raised one of his sausages to point at the letter on the table. "Y-you'll be expelled! They'll snap that stick of yours, and then you'll get – AAAHH!" A stinging hex straight to the genitals is liable to cut a man off in mid-rant. Harry needed to show these two that he was not messing around. Plus, he needed to make up for the failed punch earlier.

"Petrificus. Blink once if we are clear." The lack of inflection in his voice was much more effective than even the profanity, and Vernon and Dudley looked like they had caught a tic their eyes were blinking so rapidly at him. _Finite._ Harry grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread from the cupboards as the two wounded Dursleys crumpled to the floor again. He then proceeded up the stairs to his room, calmly levitating his trunk behind him.

The next ministry letter had upped the fine to 10 galleons per spell. "Let's make it 15, shall we?" An incendio and vanishing spell later had that note taken care of, and Harry flopped back down on his bed with his bread and peanut butter, settling in for lunch. Once his stomach was full, he flipped open his trunk and began rummaging for a book he'd grabbed from the library regarding wards.

Once he learned about the blood wards that kept him prisoner, Harry was not about to suffer without getting something out of this mess. Dumbledore's explanation of just how the wards worked had him a bit worried about their tenacity, so he grabbed a book from the restricted section before leaving. A quick "Dumbledore's authorization" to Madam Pince enabled him to get out of there alive, or at least without any more aggravation than he needed. The book was thorough in explaining the dangers of casting blood magic, and in describing many sorcerers who had lost life and limb to even the tiniest carelessness. The book was nearly useless, however, in explaining the weaknesses of blood wards once they had all ready been successfully cast.

The only information that Harry was able to immediately apply to his current situation was that when blood wards were used to anchor and magnify a spell, they could only be broken by a concentrated effort by either the caster or target of the spell, or by destroying the ward stones. Dumbledore's blathering about calling Privet Drive home was just that. Harry would have to do a lot more than even renouncing the Dursley's as kin to break the wards. It also led him to another book that would explain shifting the wards.

**If lacking sufficient control or power, the primary living target of the blood ward may be split among two specimen of close blood tie. This tie must be within two generations and greater than second cousins. Such a split is primarily done to include children as targets of priority for protective spells linked to blood wards. At any time either of the targets gains such control over their magic, a moderately powerful wizard can take full command over the blood ward, enabling manipulation. This manipulation is requisite for the target to dismantle the blood ward, enhance or otherwise alter the blood ward, or move the blood ward to another location. For further information, see Calen Quirke's dissertation in chapter 11 of Blood Rites and their Material Components. **

Harry suspected that he had enough power. He admitted that his age 13 patronus was becoming a bit stale as a signal of his magical strength, but it was still impressive. His laziness during other times of his education was truly at fault for his moments of stupidity, insecurity, and lack of certain skills. It was probably some sort of rebellion against the work-ethic that was beaten into him growing up. His friendship with Ron Weasley made up the rest. He'd have to rethink the time he spent with Ron in the coming years. Balancing his resolve to starting actually living up to the potential the sorting hat saw in him with keeping his friendship would be a challenge. However, .it was not as if he had some secret overpowering Slytherin side that did not know how to have friends that lacked a practical value. He loved Ron like a brother, and it was a simple as that. Plus, that thick skull could probably be used as a weapon at some point.

That is not to say that gathering allies to him was not a consideration. The DA was an excellent start in building himself his own personal militia if and when it came down to needing such a group. He suspected most of his war participation would be running more guerilla sort of tactics, but having a sizable force at the ready could not be a bad thing. Placing your best weapon in open combat was not very smart thinking, but if necessary, surrounding it with able bodies was the next best thing. Most of them were still very green and untrained, but with a bit more active participation next school year from the administration, Harry was going to look into remedying that problem. Just because he was considering using his classmates to his advantage did not mean he wanted them simply to be fodder.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Harry closed the book and went to the rickety desk in the corner. A small stack of order forms from Flourish and Blotts, courtesy of Hermione, laid waiting. Filling in the form, Harry listed the ward book, along with copies of a beginning tome on ancient runes and arithmancy that his smartest friend had suggested. She had unfortunately given hers to a poor muggleborn Ravenclaw the previous year. The ward book reminded him how foolish he had been in taking divination and care of magical creatures as his electives, rather than the more academic subjects. Except for being around Hagrid, Harry loathed CoMC. He had yet to meet an animal aside from Hedwig that he genuinely liked. The intelligent ones such as the headmaster's phoenix seemed to be just fine without human care. The rest usually tried to kill him, and such events were best left to be covered in Defense. He would not permit himself to waste time on yet another rant against Trelawny.

Knowing there was little hope in actually catching up to his grade level in either subject before graduation, Harry hoped that at least with his independent study he'd be at OWL level shortly thereafter. Once he began working against Voldemort in earnest, he was sure he'd run into things like wards and traps that he'd need at least some knowledge of these intricate magical theories to unravel. He'd have to ask Hermione to borrow her assignments from the last few years and maybe to tutor him if he came to a block.

Another ministry owl winged its way down to the second bedroom window and stuck its leg out. Grinning, Harry unrolled the parchment and read.

**Mr. Potter,**

**Per order of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you are hereby declared deputized as an attaché of the office of Wizengamot security under Title XVI of the Wizengamot Formation Act. Your previous fines accrued on July 3rd are rescinded. You are hereby exempt from the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underaged Sorcery. The International Statue of Secrecy, of course, still applies. Responsibility for your actions undertaken in the course of your duties will fall directly to your principle, reinstated Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore. **

**Yours truly,  
Gregory Bains  
Chief of Staff  
Office of the Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot**

Harry was not sure what to make of this new development. On one hand, this would make it easier for Dumbledore to shield him from the ministry. On the other, after Voldemort's outing, Harry was more than ever in the good graces of the wizarding world and once again a significant factor in many political ambitions. Aside from those pesky little fines that he had no intention of paying anyway, was giving more authority over him to Dumbledore really necessary?

No other owls arrived for Harry in the next week. He was able to suitably silence even Aunt Petunia with frequently threats of turning them all into half-animals and chasing them down the streets of Little Whinging in his very own Freak Parade. His ordered books arrived, and Harry had ample time to begin studying. Between his new subjects, he also focused hard on potions. Without any real care of blowing himself up inside the powerful protects on the house, Harry experimented with some more powerful variants of the wit-sharpening potion and some memory enhancers. Finally starting to take his academics seriously was going to take a bit more than willpower if he wanted to make progress before August at the earliest. And so Harry's routine began taking shape.

In no time flat, his birthday came and went. He had received various gifts from his friends, some practical and some sentimental, but they all made him smile. Dumbledore informed him that he'd be able to leave the Dursley's shortly, and had even come through with a few primers on wards that Harry had expressed an interest in. It was an appreciated gesture. The old headmaster had even gone one step further and provided a few other books, with the request that he wait until he had some more supervision before attempting any of the magics within.

Currently, Harry was struggling with the second chapter of Rituelle Magie des Rheinlands. He had finally cracked the English to German translation spell from the Standard Book of Spells: Grade 6 the night before. It had taken a concerted effort lasting nearly three days to understand, practice, and perfect that spell. He took to heart the warning that inaccurately casting the spell, and thus inaccurately translating a text, could prove disastrous when dealing with foreign spellwork. Fortunately, the majority of the spell could be reused for other languages. Harry was particularly intrigued by the hints that this spell category was a prerequisite to a more advanced assimilation of language arts. He'd made no real headway into the other Dumbledore books, which left the foreign language books remaining. Not being a total idiot, Harry suspected that this particular tome would be an excellent way to gain access to all the others. Thus, his current furrowed brow and squinting eyes.

"I pity the sucker who had to experiment to find that position…that had to come about by accident…ouch, not the eye, mate…whoa!" Harry's mutterings were broken off by the sight of a very naked couple performing a very intimate ritual that not even Dudley in all his internet 'research' was likely to come across. His gawking was interrupted by a surreptitious throat clearing that nearly gave him a heart attack.

Standing at the foot on his bed, wearing the most garish chartreuse robes, eyes twinkling like he'd just caught his older brother with a goat and was running to tell mum, stood Albus Dumbledore himself.

"Studying hard, Harry?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My first attempt at Fanfiction. This story will not be Slash though it may have a minor slash paring off to the side somewhere. Please review on writing style especially. Not much content to review thus far.


	2. Chapter 2 Plans of His Own

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a wholly owned subsidiary of JK Rowling Megastores. For all your houseware needs, come down to your nearest JK Rowling-Mart, or visit our website.

Chapter 2: Plans of his Own

Albus Dumbledore sat reclining near his office window, watching the early summer clouds drift over Hogwarts Castle. He had just finished lunch, and was stealing what few precious moments he could before getting back to work. Despite foisting even more duties upon his staff at both the ministry and at the school, he was being overwhelmed. Loathed as he was to admit it, there were not enough hours in the day to deal with parents, politicians, and psychopaths. Now what had Minerva said about her granddaughter looking for a job? Perhaps he'd finally cave into the pressure and get himself a secretary for some of the school work.

He carefully reigned in his thoughts and tried to relax into his chair, but it was no use. With a heavy sigh, the old wizard hoisted himself up and went back to his desk. He paused briefly to inspect a small pewter figurine perched on the end. The figurine had a look of concentration, but not distress. Satisfied that young Mr. Potter was still safely tucked away, he returned to a stack of papers on the desk and read through them for a final time.

Albus had carefully considered many plans for the boy in the past few weeks since he'd left the school. He had even begun some of those plans before he caught his reflection in the mirror just that morning. "You're doing it again, you stubborn old fool," he scolded himself. The mirror tried to disabuse him from the notion of abusing himself, but Dumbledore walked out of the elaborate bathroom without a response. He immediately began pulling a few thick volumes of ministry and confederation law from a bookshelf and some fresh scrolls.

It had finally sunk in that Harry was both fated and determined to be a fly in the ointment of any plans he might make. No information was secure, no courses of actions foolproof where Harry was either knowingly or unknowingly involved. He prided himself on giving second chances, and that included personal ones. So a reversal of tactics was in order. Nothing in Harry's life gave him any sense of trust for authority. When not actually attacking, they were letting him down. The only logical response was to loosen the grip and try to smooth out a path. The young man would undoubtedly stumble, but his luck had proven steady so far. Perhaps with less direct influence and more open guidance, he might avoid falling too far.

Being a master of certain mind magics, Dumbledore was forced to study himself and his thinking very often. As such, he knew that the temptation to grip Harry tighter was not something even his considerable will was up to the challenge of resisting. He meant what he said about loving the boy, and he did not think he could quell the opposing needs he perceived Harry to have at the moment. There was also a worry that others might pick up on Dumbledore's decision, and might try to grab a slice of the Potter pie for themselves. Therefore, he'd have to give Harry increased means of protecting himself from the headmaster and from the world.

The paperwork before him was drawn up in his capacity both as Chief Warlock and as Harry's wizarding guardian, him being a ward of Hogwarts during the school year. It was not an uncommon practice for young heirs to be granted their maturity a year or two early in order to manage family affairs when all other members have perished and no appropriate reagents were available. There was the rub. Dumbledore would have to be very stealthy to get the paperwork approved and filed before anyone could come forward with such an idea. It would lead to legal wrangling that would be both distracting and dangerous for Harry when his focus needed to be on these beginning stages of the war.

With the paperwork drawn up, there were other practical considerations. He was glad that Harry had taken up the challenge of understanding his protections at Privet Drive, judging by the request of books he'd recently received. He'd still need the blood wards, after all, and this would allow a more immediate and permanent relocation once free of the Dursleys. He decided to include a few other tomes that would fall neatly into his plans for Harry's new freedom. He also decided to have Severus pay a visit to Privet Drive once Harry was moved. He was not blind to see that his Potion Master was every bit as ruthless as he had ever been, but as long as that ruthlessness served the Light, Dumbledore could expect no greater redemption for the man. He chalked up this momentary lapse of principle to his care for the boy.

A few weeks later, Dumbledore had found success. He was positively giddy when faced with a red faced and increasingly balding Cornelius Fudge, who was waving a stack of parchment around wildly. "Dumbledore! What is the meaning of this!? Have you no idea what this means to the ministry? To ME?"

Fudge's approval rating having fallen down to the teens, he had very few options to recover his job. And without his job, his life would be forfeit. He now had no illusions to who was responsible for getting him elected in the first place, and who maintained the steady supply of pork that flowed to his constituencies in Britain. That pork enabled him to get away with some of his more questionable activities in the face of people like Dumbledore and Amelia Bones. Even crawling on his hands and knees to Dumbledore would only be met with scorn. Many in the government, both here and abroad, knew that while forgiving, even the Light scion Albus Dumbledore had a limit to what he would put up with. His contacts on the other side were meanwhile scrambling in disarray, the leaders of the various networks loyal to the Dark Lord having been imprisoned and so without direction or cohesiveness. Voldemort did not yet have the presence to take over such networks himself, having lost influence to those of his followers that had been able to remain active these last years of his absence. He had not expected such incompetence in the face of children, or he would have asserted himself in those areas earlier.

No, the only real options were to abandon everything he had worked and schemed and politicked to gain and to flee the country, or to get some new backing. And so, every waking moment was spent scrambling to prepare as many boons, favors, and gifts for the one person who could rescue the Fudge administration from imminent dismissal.

"How can I offer Potter the freedom from the underage laws if he's no longer underage!? How can I offer him special training by the auror corps if I can't find him and he has access to training outside Ministry control? Money, pah! I'm sure you've all ready taken care of that! I was even going to give him Delores' head on a platter, delusional as she is! How could you do this?! You've ruined me, you meddling old fool!" Spittle was flying all through the air. A wordless and wandless spell that Dumbledore had perfected during his early days with the International Confederation of Wizards where irate wizards lacking saliva control were abundant was enough to keep him dry. Inwardly chuckling at such an irritating thorn in his side being removed, Dumbledore hummed a bar of Tchaikovsky and nearly skipped down to the Ministry floos for the trip back to the school.

The Minister briefly toyed with overriding Dumbledore's scheme. He was still the Minister of Magic after all. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had public opinion back on his side, and most of the Wizengamot saw the writing on the wall. Their head was back in charge, and unless they wanted to go down with his sinking ship, they would not lift a finger to help Cornelius Fudge. With a heavy sigh, he began initiating what he liked to call Plan Omega. Unfortunately, the inept Oswald Riddle would be one of the tragic victims of EgyptAir Flight 990's crash over the Mediterranean Sea. If only Fudge listened, he would have known how much of an insult his alias would be to his judge, jury, and ultimately executioner. Then again, he probably got off light.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was setting some final touches on his new grand plan. He did not have any silly names for it. A moment of concentration elicited two cracks in his office. A slight grin smacking of schudenfreude added extra lines to the weathered face of the headmaster as he remembered meeting Dobby for the first time in this very office. He laughed quite loudly that afternoon relating the tale of Dobby's freedom to Minerva, and both the inconvenience and loss of status that meant for Lucius Malfoy. Dobby, unknowingly remembering the same scene, had a slightly more insane grin on his face. He especially was remembering tossing the bad wizard down the hall just as he had done to Dobby so many times before.

The other elf was of course Winky. Dobby had linked his magic through Winky's in order to put a stop to her budding alcoholism, plus he was attracted to the bald-headed beauty. Even the cheerful little guy had his limits though, and Winky was seriously getting on his nerves. Going on and on about proper house elves, pitying herself to high heaven, and doing very little to repay Dobby's generosity. And the other elves had the nerve to look at Dobby like he was a charity case! He knew he was different, and a bit touched in the head, but he considered that that was what made him special enough to be worthy of the great Harry Potter's attention.

"Dobby, Winky. I have a special task that I need you to perform. This has nothing to do with Hogwarts, so officially you may refuse this request. There is a property that is currently being prepared for habitation. The occupant will be a Hogwart's student, and will therefore only be there for the rest of the summer. However, there is much to be done in the interim, and the house will require even more renovation and maintenance during the coming year. I want you both to take over from the crew all ready there. I need elves that I can trust to watch over this particular student. Your ownership, and employment, will be transferred to the new owner of the house. What do you say?"

Winky immediately agreed, wanting nothing better than to get away from these common elves who did not even have a family of their own, just a big drafty castle filled with so many people. There was just no time for the personal individual care that Winky loved to provide. She also hoped that in an insolated environment she'd be able to knock some sense into the idiot standing next to her. Despite the closeness that the bond they shared forced upon them, she was frustrated at every attempt to make her mate listen to her and become a proper house elf.

Dobby, however, was not stupid. He had a strong suspicion that he knew just what student the Headmaster was talking about. He weighed his options. On the one hand, he'd get his wish of being Harry Potter's personal elf. On the other, students were not allowed to have their own house elves at Hogwarts. He would actually get less time to serve the one he considered his true master, at least for awhile. As an added bonus to refusing, he'd get away from Winky. Sure, he'd visit her to make sure she wasn't slipping, and to perform his matrimonial duties, but then he could claim that there was work to be done at Hogwarts and get right back. He hoped that Harry Potter's interesting ideas on how to treat people and beings, not to mention more direct contact with his Grangey, would mellow out Winky a bit and get her to stop nagging.

"Dobby will have to decline Headmaster Dumbleydore, sir. Dobby likes his job at Hogwarts too much. I is sure that Winky is more than up to the job by herself. She is good elf, will take care of Harry Potter, I mean, the student, just fine," Dobby gave the Headmaster a big wink, as if to say that the obvious secret was safe with him. Winky, however, had a frown on her face, and was looking at Dobby suspiciously. Not wanting to give either time to object or to attempt persuasion, Dobby gave Winky a peck on the cheek, and then another crack chased Dobby from the room.

Dumbledore was left flatfooted. While it did not matter in the grand scheme of things, he thought that he'd be doing a good thing for both Harry and Dobby in one swoop. For such a simple creature to leave him so astounded had him in a moment of panic. He checked and double checked the file he had, trying to ascertain whether he had made any other mistakes in this endeavor. With nothing better to do, Winky just stood there with narrowed eyes. If Dobby thought he'd be getting any "matrinmonial duty" the next time she saw him, he better think again.

Sighing with relief, there was nothing that stood out that he forgot about. All of the logistics were sound, and he was sure Harry would appreciate all the effort he went into putting this together. It was, to Dumbledore, a great start on putting them back on track in their relationship. Harry would have enough freedom to get things done, and Dumbledore would be there to guide him only when asked, much like Merlin and Arthur in the golden years of their kingdom. He smiled at that analogy.

"Now, Winky, you'll have double duty without Dobby there to assist you, but like him, I agree that you are more than up to the challenge. Here is the location of the house, and as Dobby guessed, you will be serving Harry Potter. He will be joining you within the week. Gather your things at once and assume command of the temporary team there. For now you speak with my authority, and once Harry arrives, that will be upon his discretion."

Winky nodded once to the headmaster, and then popped straight away to the location listed on the scrap of parchment. She had no things to speak of, aside from her butterbeer cap collection. It was half missing, however, the last time she counted, so she gave it up as a lost cause. Besides, that was the perfect opportunity to knock her husband down a peg or two. She'd just happen to mention only how many there used to be when she asked him in the sweetest voice to bring them to her new house the next time he visited her. See how he squirms out of that one!

As soon as Winky left, Dumbledore stood again and went to one of the cabinets against the wall. Carefully unlocking the door with both key and spell, careful to avoid the magical and mundane traps, Dumbledore gazed with pride upon his personal collection of spellbooks. He had always been an academic, despite his exploits in battle and politics. Over half of the spellbooks therein he had penned himself. Invocations, powerful shields, true divination arts, alchemical creations, rituals from the powerful to slight, spells ranging from truly holy to the shaded areas of gray; all this lay within these precious books. All unique and unknown to the entire world, except those few that had Dumbledore's blessing. None but Albus himself remained in the land of the living. In addition to those books of his own authorship, others just as valuable sat. The personal spellbook of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, thought by the world to have been lost in the inferno of his death throes, sat innocently, its midnight blue binding benignly hiding the depravity within. A worn red leather book reputed to have been written by Myrridin himself sat next to that one, the spells in it so powerful as to be beyond Dumbledore's grasp to even read. Even the attempt had given him a migraine. Many of the rest had equally interesting histories, and of course, the Dumbledore family tome sat in a place of honor on the highest shelf.

One of the tasks that Albus had performed during the last visit to the Ministry had been to update his will. A few of the books were to be given to other members of his family, one of his dear departed sister's grandchildren was an Unspeakable, and could both use and defend the artifacts. Of course this included the family legacy. The others, however, had different recipients. His masterpiece on transfiguration would be given to Minerva, with instructions that she is to give it to her most promising student of the art when she passed. He wished he would be alive at the time to see her read the chapter he had written that would cut the animagus training time in half. Such knowledge was not to be disseminated lightly, now, but he could imagine it. The books of the dark arts, especially Grindelwald's, would have to be destroyed soon just in case. He had hoped that he could find someone that would appreciate the history of the books without succumbing to the temptation they presented, but he had never met such a person. He himself had considered one of the less evil rituals to break Severus' Dark Mark, but was unable to justify the sacrifices that most of the dark arts required. He supposed that he only kept the books for sentimental reasons, really as trophies, and anyone else would either use or destroy them.

The books pertaining to the battle arts were the main thrust of his updated will, having formerly been slated to go to Moody, but now to be turned over to Harry. Moody was no longer stable enough to be trusted with such devastating power. The man was seeing Death Eaters in the dinner plates, for Merlin's sake! He destroyed one of Minerva's tea cups because he thought the little animated tabbies were going to attack. No, best not load Alastor's wand with any more ammunition.

A few of the books would be going sooner rather than later as his champion prepared for war. It was a risk, but one with better than even odds. Pulling a few of the books from the shelves, he placed them on the edge of his desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. The book on top hummed. Its tune was not audible to the human ear, but Fawkes dipped his head and wept at the sound, the pearlescent tears mingling with the ashes of his last burning day. The mixture was incredibly powerful, its existence draining strength directly from the heart of the phoenix until consumed. It made a most potent ingredient for the drawing of runes for those rituals that commanded the Philosophies of Justice, Righteousness, Longevity, and Healing.

The beauty of the song struck chords in Albus, too, and it was with a joyous smile that he wrote his letter. This book, written by the wizard Paul near the end of his life in 65 CE, was filled with divine chants and rituals. He claimed that many of the magics contained within that book were learned under the tutelage of Jesus the Christ himself. Jesus was the only person to ever enter into a mastery of divine magic so profound that even those who did not believe he was the son of the Christian monotheistic God still consider him one of the precious few completely pure beings ever to exist.

Immediately upon her arrival at Hogwarts, Albus had known who was destined to be the next keeper of the True Gospel of St. Paul. It made him both serene and deeply sad. The young girl had shown no inkling of such magic when she was born, as the keepers usually did. Her mother, an Unspeakable, had inadvertently unleashed such a gift within her daughter during a failed experiment that claimed the mother's life and left the girl with only a portion of her mind within this reality. It was Albus' hope that the knowledge within the book would help the girl find her center and given her command of the shifting of her mind between the realms of mortals and gods, or at the very least enough presence to assist Harry through their use.

Having completed that letter, he pulled yet another parchment and dipped his quill in the pot. A rather insistent squawk from the phoenix in the corner gave him pause. "So what if I am procrastinating?" A mocking chirp followed. "I'm young at heart! The students do it all the time…oh fine! I'm going, I'm going. Flaming turkey…" A quick charm had the previous letter folded up and settling itself right into an indignant Fawkes' mouth, just as the phoenix had about to retort. Instead, he flew over to the desk and gingerly grabbed the holy book. Wings extended, he turned in a wide arc, accidentally scattering the bowl of lemon drops all over the desk and onto the floor. Mirthful eyes glanced at the pouting wizard, before the phoenix was gone in a flash of light and fire.

Another charm had the bookcase sealed once again, and the lemon drops back in their dish. He'd have to remember to offer those to guests, but only eat from the stash in his top drawer. He almost started back in on the letter, when he shook his head. It would be a good visit. It would. Picking up the files and remaining books, as well as banana peel from his earlier lunch, Dumbledore vanished in the tell tale vortex of a portkey.

His own wards recognized him, and helped to guide his entry softly and safely in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. He was glad to see Harry studying one of the books he'd given him and in German no less! He stepped forward, preparing to clear his throat, when Harry's voice gave him pause.

"I pity the sucker who had to experiment to find that position…that had to come about by accident…ouch, not the eye, mate…whoa!"

Dumbledore had to stop breathing altogether to keep from blurting out laughing. He knew exactly what part of the book the red faced teen had reached. Wanting to get this meeting off on the right foot without letting Harry get too embarrassed, Dumbledore coughed insistently, rousing Harry's attention.

"Studying hard, Harry?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Please let me know what you think! Religion will not play a part in this story, but spirituality might have a minor role later on if it fits.


	3. Chapter 3 A New Dynamic

Gripping his chest to still his pounding heart, Harry looked up incredulously at the old wizard before him. "Great Merlin's ghost! A bit of warning next time, perhaps?" Mindful of the writhing couple on the pages between them, Harry snapped shut the ritual book. He prayed to whatever deity might be listening that the headmaster would have enough tact not to mention it, but he did not get his hopes up.

"I do apologize, Harry. I just thought it best not to disturb your relatives. I am glad to see you making excellent use of your time here," he gestured to the pile of books that were spread over the wobbly desk. He mentally berated himself for pausing to consider sprucing up the bedroom for the young man. That would not only be procrastinating, but also quite ingratiating considering that within a few minutes Harry would be able to perform such magic on his own. He was rather pleased with the "gift" he was about to bestow, but did not what Harry to be too cynical of his motives.

Harry meanwhile was frowning as Dumbledore cast his blue eyes about the room. Though used to the scornful looks of his relatives regarding his shabbiness- hypocritical since they were the cause- no one else had seen his meager summer dwellings. He had developed enough of his own pride during his successes and growth at Hogwarts that it embarrassed and angered him, compounded by his embarrassment and anger that were all ready a part of his emotions regarding his headmaster. He wanted the old man to get on with it.

"The books are quite interesting, if difficult. The range of topics is actually quite refreshing after five years of the same topics at Hogwarts." Dumbledore nodded in response.

"Yes, you are a bright student, Harry, if rather lazy at times. A great friendship you have with Miss Granger, but I fear that at times you and Mr. Weasley have used her as a crutch." This served to increase Harry's anger and resentment, and Dumbledore could see it in his eyes. He did not know why he was scolding Harry, but the words seemed to just tumble out. Before a response could be made, he decided to save himself before he got too off-track.

"I have here a few more things for you. More books mostly. Some things from my private collections," he placed the stack on the edge of the bed. "A few of these books I have written myself, Harry, and a few I have acquired. All contain highly potent and dangerous magic. I urge you to be cautious before attempting any of the spells within, and to call to mind all the theories that you have learned thus far." Harry had finally concluded that himself recently. The ritual book itself explained nothing that did not pertain to the magic within. It assumed one had progressed in the core magical subjects, and that one was ready to delve into the advanced arcana. His old books that he had not thought to be reading much ever again now proved their worth as excellent reference material. Most of the Hogwarts professors did actually know what they were doing, at least as far as selecting the best textbooks went.

"I realize that, sir. I'm now very interested, however, in seeing the warded classrooms that the post-OWL students are granted access to." Harry decided that retorting on the laziness comment would be childish, especially since there was a truth to it. Another realization he had made this summer.

"Very good, Harry, and you may have access to some other resources sooner than you think. I have here a Writ of Ascension from the Wizengamot," a sealed scroll was produced from Albus' sleeve and extended to Harry, who took it with a modicum of disbelief. Harry had toyed with making a request for such a Writ, but had little trust that either the Ministry or Dumbledore would agree to it. For it to be handed over so easily was astounding! A sibilant voice in the back of his head got his back up, however.

"And just what assurances are you getting ready to demand from me?" Rude, yes. Justified, Harry certainly thought so. "And speaking of such demands, just what are my _responsibilities_ going to be as your security agent?"

"None, Harry, absolutely none. I have done a lot of thinking on my past behavior with regards to you. I've made many mistakes, even with the best of intentions. I am not looking for concessions on your part, though I would appreciate being kept in the loop in your plans. The security job was just a temporary stopgap measure while I sought the Writ, unless you want to keep the position. It might be wise, as it would provide you with some additional funding and authority. Remember though, since you're getting adult privileges, I'll also be less wary about taking you to task when I think you are acting recklessly or foolishly. You need, and I imagine want, responsibility, and as such you need to constantly earn it. You need to stop leaping before you look." Wait a second, that wasn't want I mean to say!

Harry bounced on the bed and got to his feet, finally reaching his tipping point. "How dare you? The only times I've acted as you so delicately put it was when you failed to do your job! When your blindness or incompetence forced me to action, and your damned secrecy further forced me into situations where I didn't even have enough information to go into with a clear head!" His breathing heavy, he drew out his wand. "And furthermore, I would not have relied on Hermione so much if you had actually revealed how urgent my magical training was! I expected to have a lifetime to develop my abilities. Finally enjoying my life seemed a better use of my seven years at Hogwarts!" His wand was sputtering glowing sparks, wild magic leaking out. "Thank you for finally giving me some tools that could actually help me to survive this stupid, senseless war. But don't expect me to kiss your arse and continue being one of your star struck worshippers."

Narrowing his eyes, Dumbledore made a quick decision. Wand draw with smooth grace, Harry suddenly found himself slammed into the wall behind the bed, bound in chains that held a tight grip on his wrists and neck. "Do not mistake my appearance or my affection for you, Harry, to mean you have special leave to speak to me with such disrespect!" The wards were buzzing in the back of his head. He had some leeway here, but not much. "I apologize for what I have done and have not done, and am attempting to make amends by granting you your independence. But I am still an authority in this world and I am still your greatest ally in this fight. You might not like that right now, but that's the way it is."

Harry's head was throbbing. He had slammed it hard against the wall. He nearly pissed himself when the full force of Albus' aura washed over him. His anger did not abate, but he did recognize the truth to the words spoken. He would need Dumbledore, both in battle and in order to fully maximize the use of the small library he now possessed. Unfortunately, his agreement could only be communicated in blinks, as speech and nodding were both unavailable without severe discomfort. Dumbledore got the message and banished the chains, leaving Harry to drop back to the bed and smack his face into one of the books. That was going to leave a mark.

"There some things you need to think hard on, young man. Arrangements have been made for your relocation. I recommend you not leave here until you fully understand the blood wards. That will be your first test of your new responsibility. You have the funds to last you through the rest of school and a bit beyond that. You also have family resources you can call upon, if you can find them. I'm speaking of spell books, artifacts, and the like. Most you'll not have access to until your magical maturity, when the family wards and enchantments recognize you. You'll need to use your monetary wealth for the time being to arm yourself, which though considerable, is not limitless." Dumbledore paused, waiting for a look of understanding. He was not disappointed, though he had hoped for a more enthusiastic response.

"I'll be ready to begin the ward manipulation by the end of the month. I'll be leaving here immediately afterward."

"Good. You should be receiving your OWL results soon, at which time you also need to select your class choices for your last two years, should you choose to pursue advanced Hogwarts studies. Most do, if only for use of our facilities as you mentioned."

"Despite popular opinion, I do know some things, professor. I know you like to hear yourself talk, but could you spare me the rest of this monologue?" A headache was rattling his brain. It was time for Dumbledore to leave so he could renew his studies. He did not have time to listen to things he all ready knew! A bit more tact might have been in order. His new relationship with his intellect was not that strong yet, but even he knew to brace himself as another spell flew at him.

"I warned you Harry. That's two. The next time I might just leave you to figure out the counter yourself." Very slowly, the bones in Harry's arms and hands transfigured themselves back from hollow tubes of ice. The nauseating pain lingered, especially since he jerked with the impact, fracturing his pinky. The reversal left the bone broken. He had never seen nor heard of Dumbledore resorting to such corporal punishments, but he knew that for now he did not want to continue antagonizing him. "If I have not impressed upon you in five years that I am not a wizard to be crossed so impudently, we are in more trouble that I thought."

"I understand, sir. I apologize. Could you please leave before I say something more I'll regret? I've got work to do." The meekness in his voice rankled him, but it was necessary to retreat right now. If Dumbledore kept half his word on what he was being presented with, he'd not have to experience it again.

"Very well, Harry. I'll leave you to it."

Slowly rising to his feet, Harry fought off his vertigo. A few flicks of his wand had an area of the room cleared, the window opened, and his potions supplies arranged neatly on a transfigured table. First things first. Forcing the bile from rising, Harry brewed himself a few medicinal potions. A headache potion cleared away the haze, and a throat soothing potion released him from the discomfort caused by the chain. With such ease had he been incapacitated. It was a brutal lesson, but one he certainly needed. Look where cheek got Sirius. Distracted at a crucial moment.

An hour later, Harry had taped up his poor broken pinky to his ring finger, and fixed himself a light meal. The potions had left a foul taste in his mouth that no muggle toothpaste could remove. The taste was worth bearing rather than use wizarding oral hygiene spells, which always stripped his taste buds and gave him cottonmouth for hours. He hoped that a nice corned beef on rye with a tall glass of milk would counter the rat spleen. Then it was back to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the same time, Dumbledore sat in deep meditation in a specially prepared chamber adjacent to his office. A critical tool of the Master Occulencer was a small room designed to provide maximum sensory deprivation, so that there would be no external distractions during the delicate procedures of actually sculpting the mindscape. It was the height of the art's mastery to be able to view ones own mind as one might memories in a pensieve, although patterns and connections were not as easy to fathom from inside. The memories ran together too fluidly and with too much extraneous information, such as their respective emotions. The main purpose was to set up defenses and refine mental and even psychic abilities, such as one's Legilimency.

There was no realistic appearance to his mindscape. It was not a reflection of the real world at all. That was a novice mistake, to create a mindscape that was a reflection of a forest or perhaps a library. Even the most meticulous defenses were vulnerable by creating any type of order such a theme would present. For true security, the mindscape had to be as surreal as possible. Leave nothing to aid an attacker, not even a hint at the personality behind lurking within. (One could argue, however that such a surrealistic mindscape matched Dumbledore's personality perfectly, but the theory still held.) Those without the skill or mental acuity to reach such a level often needed familiarity to avoid driving themselves insane. They needed reminders, landmarks, to avoid getting lost in their own minds.

Dumbledore had neglected his exercises for some weeks as matters pressed upon him. Something was lurking in his mind, something that was making him act slightly off. More off than usual at any rate. His impulsive dealing with Harry was a clear sign of something wrong. Striking a student? He had not done that in very many years, since he had been a new professor and such punishments were more common.

He frowned when he discovered a wangdoodle rotating counterclockwise rather than its usual clockwise manner. The wangdoodles hated rotating counterclockwise. A brief pulse of magic set it right again, and the nagging sensation in the back of his mind ceased. That was all? Nothing more than a puff of mental filament set off course?

Nothing more was to be gained now. The change in his mindscape was not natural. He would not have let something like that slip on his own. Someone had breached his shields. Was the change in the wangdoodle responsible for his reaction this morning? Was it deliberate, or was it nothing more than a clumsy attack that failed to actually make sense of his mindscape, but was able to lash out at whatever it could before being repulsed?

Dumbledore spent the next hour making changes. The wangdoodles became krelgles, who loved nothing more than revolving counterclockwise. The giant babies in togas morphed into wingless dragons with beards. The patterns of light were further randomized, their pulsating changed from a pattern of thirteen permutations to fourteen. He even threw in a bit of German techno-pop.

Satisfied, he pushed himself up and left the chamber. He had neglected his paperwork for the day long enough. The mystery of the wangdoodle would keep for now.


End file.
